A Song for a Bonny Swan
by Blooregard Q. Kazoo
Summary: 003 enjoyed her music. He once inquired as to how she could have the volume so loud with her hearing abilities; did it hurt? No, she answered. She could control her audio-enhancements with ease.


This story was uploaded some time ago under the same alias, Blooregard Q. Kazoo. However, after several stagnant years of non-updating, I finally took a peak at my stories, and I was horribly disappointed in my writing. I have re-vamped my works, and created a new account as a "fresh start." For those who do not remember this story - 007, an old Shakespearean actor, can't help but marvel at the young, sophisticated, 003. A bit of unrequited love. _Disclaimer: Cyborg 009 is copyrighted material. This story is in no way affiliated with its owners._

**A SONG FOR A BONNY SWAN**

**A**

**ONE-SHOT**

**BY**

**BLOOREGARD Q. KAZOO**

Somewhere along the endless highs and lows of classical music, and amidst the soft tapping of 003's foot against the floor in the next room over, 007 remembered that he was trying to sleep. Having watch duty during the night, for that was the time an attack was most likely to happen, would leave a person rather tired during the daylight hours. He threw the blankets aside with a mix of exasperation and anger, and trudged toward the opposite wall.

He raised a fist, bringing it down sharply, though stopping a centimeter before it made contact. Banging on a wall while screaming, "Turn that blasted music down," was not the conduct of an English gentleman. Furthermore, he could not believe that showing such anger had even crossed his mind. This was a _lady_ on the other side. A lady trying to enjoy a piece of music. A lady who, no doubt, was unaware of his presence in the adjacent room! And her taste in music was so divine – the classics! Her knowledge of ballet, her love for the violin – never had he met such a woman before! Her maturity, her sophistication… her _beauty_…

003 enjoyed her music. He once inquired as to how she could have the volume so loud with her hearing abilities; did it hurt? No, she answered. She could control her audio-enhancements with ease. Otherwise, would not the slightest noise cause her pain? Would not the fall of a piece of dust upon the table echo and resound like the fiercest of thunderstorms? Would not the footsteps of a comrade bang like the largest drum? Yes, he agreed, that would be true. She played the music loudly because she could adjust her hearing. She could make the violin rise above the other instruments, she could enhance the bass, or the flute, perhaps make the clarinet a little clearer. She could change the music to suit her needs; change the song to her liking.

Did he want to interrupt her audible paradise? But he was exhausted. Being in such a condition was not only a danger to himself but to those around him. Their situation was less than pleasant, so it was required that everyone stay in top shape, for there was no telling what the next day, or minute, for that matter, would bring.

Realizing that his fist was still in the air, 007 brought it to his side while lowering his head in the same fashion. He directed himself toward the door, head drooping and shoulders sagging. He was going to confront 003. How something as trivial as the volume of one's music sparked such emotion within him was, by far, beyond his own comprehension. It must have been the idea that her enjoyment was keeping him from sleeping. Yes, that was it. He did not want to keep her from what she loved – but when personal pleasure could interfere with the safety of others, he had no choice but to put an end to her beautiful music.

He entered the hallway to find that it increased ten fold. Her room was no more than a few yards away, but at that particular moment, it seemed as though it was longest distance his mind could fathom.

Oh, how his hands were shaking! He breathed deeply as if he were swallowing his fears to keep them at bay, hidden away within his body. He let out a sigh as though he had changed his mind to release them into the air, where they could scatter, and never bother him again.

It was like having a sect of stage fright. And there was, of course, a particular phrase used to cancel out such dismay. _Picture them… er, her… in her underwear_.

No, wait. _That_ would not be the conduct of an English gentleman.

He found that, during his thoughts, he made his way to her door and knocked on it without knowing. How was he certain? The soft chiming of her voice was more than sufficient evidence.

"Just a minute."

The music softened, and the padding of her feet was heard behind the doorframe. She opened the door and smiled at his presence – she was happy to see him! His heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, G.B., I woke you, didn't I?"

He scratched his head, wondering how on earth she knew.

"How did you…?"

She stifled a giggle, realizing that he was completely unaware of his outward appearance.

"You're eyes, for one. You look so tired. And your clothes… well, they aren't your normal attire."

He glanced downward to find that he was wearing pajamas. White cotton with light blue vertical stripes. He tried to hide his lightly-flushed cheeks, but to no avail.

"I'll keep the music down, okay?"

She was so kind… so sweet! Though she was, and he would not be contested if he placed the notion on the table, the weakest member of their diverse group, she was, by far, the hardest working. Completely vigilant, always alert – it was a miracle that her delicate body had not exploded from overheating her circuitry with such constant activity.

"Thank you, milady. I sadly bid to thee fare-well."

He bowed slightly, lifting her hand within his own, cradling it gently, enjoying how his fingers wrapped around the contours of her skin with such ease – it felt… perfect. He pressed puckered lips against her fair and pallid flesh to peck her hand ever-so-gently before turning around to leave. He made sure to hurry; his heart raced, pounding within his chest so greatly that he feared it would become audible to her overly-sensitive hearing, or the thumping visible by the rattle of his clothing with her keen, sharp eyes. He wasted no time in turning around, lest he wanted his nervous features detected by the rising warm hues on his face.

Once within the safe sanctum of his quarters, he plopped himself down on the bed, head resting on the pillow, a large, silly grin plastered across his face. He was finally going to sleep… But then, something came to mind that shot his eyes open.

What _did_ 003 wear beneath her clothing? Was it plain and simple, black and lacy, or did she color coordinate and wear red, frilly panties?

He would be up for hours.


End file.
